


Cat's Cradle (Text Version)

by glymr



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Animal, M/M, Sick Animal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-10-03 18:07:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17288861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glymr/pseuds/glymr
Summary: When Connor finds a kitten in the aftermath of a fire, he becomes determined to save her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yakichou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yakichou/gifts).



> The lovely yakichou posted about wanting to work on a collaboration with a writer, and since I'm a HUGE fan of her work, I volunteered. I sent her two story options: a fluffy one and an angsty one. She chose to turn the fluffy one into a comic (but stay tuned for the angsty one, because we'll probably release that as an illustrated story at some point!)
> 
> This is the text of the original story that yakichou so skillfully turned into a comic. I think the comic is better, but they make for an interesting comparison. I will post each chapter after the corresponding comic part goes up so that people will have a chance to read the comic first.
> 
> You can read the comic at [Dreamwidth](https://detroitbecomehuman.dreamwidth.org/8513.html), [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17273618/chapters/40621643), or on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Yakichou1/status/1080501738057154561).

"What have you got there?"

Connor looked up at his partner, then back down into the cardboard box. Carefully, he tilted the box forward so that Hank could peer inside.

"Is that a _cat?_ "

"A kitten," Connor confirmed. "Likely to be about three months old."

Hank frowned. "It looks pretty bad."

"Not 'it'," said Connor quickly.

Hank's eyes snapped to his face. "What?"

"The kitten is a female," said Connor. "She's not an 'it'." Just like Connor himself wasn't an 'it'.

"Ah." A flush stole into Hank's cheeks. "Okay," he said awkwardly. " _She_ doesn't look so good."

"The rest of her litter, including her mother, were trapped when the building caught on fire," said Connor. He'd reconstructed the scene, watching as the smoke and fire had overtaken the mother and her kittens.

"That's awful," said Hank. He was looking at Connor's temple, where the LED was cycling red. "What are you going to do with her? It might...it might be kindest to put her down, Connor."

Connor blinked and frowned. It took him a moment to search the idiom and realize what Hank meant. " _Put her down?_ " His voice was louder than he'd intended. "You mean, _kill_ her?"

Hank lifted his hands defensively. "Whoa, take it easy. She's awfully small and it looks like she's been badly hurt. She's probably in a lot of pain, Connor."

"So that's a good reason to _kill her?_ " The hot, strange feeling ran through him. He'd felt it before, when another version of himself had held a gun on Lieutenant Anderson and threatened to kill him. _Rage_ , he identified the feeling. It helped to know what it was, but only a little. "If she were a human, people would be rushing her to the hospital! But because she's a feline and she's been hurt, she doesn't deserve a chance? You don't think we should even _try?_ "

Hank stared at him, eyes wide. Finally he spoke, his voice as gentle as Connor had ever heard it. "All right," he said. "Let's try. We'll take her to the vet. But Connor…" He put one hand on Connor's shoulder and looked down into the box again, his head bent. "She might not make it. You understand that, right?"

There was pain in his voice. Too late, Connor remembered Hank's own child, little Cole, and how he'd been hurt. How he'd been rushed to the hospital. How they'd tried and failed to save him. The hot sensation in his chest, the _rage_ cooled and faded as if it had never been.

"My apologies, Lieutenant. I spoke without thinking."

"Yeah, well, people do that sometimes," said Hank with a grin. There was a tug in Connor's chest, a different kind of heat. His gaze flicked to Hank's face, but Hank just squeezed his shoulder and let go. "Let's get her to the vet. The place I take Sumo isn't far."

***

The vet wasn't very encouraging.

A short, no-nonsense woman with glasses and black hair pulled back from her face, she frowned as she examined the kitten. Her fingers were gentle (gentle like Hank's voice had been) but her eyes were hard when she looked up at Connor and Hank.

"She's in bad shape. She'll need almost constant care, and even then...her chances aren't good."

"I'll care for her," said Connor. "I'm an android. I don't need sleep."

"You still need to _work_ , Connor!" Hank said. "What are you going to do with her while you're at the office?"

"I can do it," insisted Connor. He turned to the veterinarian. "I've downloaded courses in veterinary medicine. If you'll give me the medicine and the instructions, I'll follow them."

The woman looked him over keenly, then nodded. "All right, you'll do," she said. Her eyes softened. "But you need to understand, even if you do everything perfectly, I'd still say she has a less than thirty percent chance of survival. If she doesn't make it...it won't be because of anything you did or didn't do. It won't be your fault."

Next to him, Hank's breath caught. Connor didn't look at him. Instead he met the woman's eyes and said, "I understand."

***

Despite the fact that the "official" DPD policy required filing all reports digitally, there was plenty of paper still in use at the office. Maybe that was why each desk came with filing drawers underneath. Connor had never used his.

Now he made a nest in the top drawer, with a blanket and a small hot water bottle wrapped in another blanket.

"You really think you can hide her from Fowler?"

"I can try." The Mission floated in front of him: **Keep Kitten Alive.**

Hank shook his head. "Why don't you just take some time off?"

"I don't have very much accrued yet. It's only been a few months since I was officially hired. Besides, I don't want to make a bad impression by taking time off so soon."

"You'll make a worse one if you're caught," sighed Hank, but he didn't say anything more.

For the next three days, Connor spent every moment that he could with the kitten. He insisted on staying at the station through the night, much to Hank's consternation. He followed a strict schedule of feeding, dosing her with medicine and painkillers, gently socializing her and carefully cleaning her. He tried to check on her at least every fifteen minutes. His life began to revolve around the tiny creature.

On the third morning, Hank arrived much earlier than usual, even before Captain Fowler arrived. He smirked at Connor and handed him a clean and pressed suit. "Yours is getting a bit wrinkled," he said. "Why don't you go and change, I'll keep an eye on her for a bit."

Connor beamed at him. "Thank you."

When Connor returned after changing and stashing his other suit in Hank's car, the Lieutenant was leaning over the drawer and frowning. "She still looks sick to me."

"It's only been 43 hours and 37 minutes," said Connor. He took a cloth and wiped the discharge dribbling from the kitten's nose and mouth. As he did so, there was a faint sound, almost inaudible. Hank bent down.

The kitten was purring.

"Well," said Hank slowly, "If anyone can save her, it's you."

***


	2. Chapter 2

So far they'd been lucky. Though android violence had spiked in the first month or two following the revolution, things had finally settled down in the past few weeks. The two of them weren't called out to any crime scenes for the first few days after Connor had acquired the kitten. 

On the third day that changed. 

After lunch, Fowler called both Hank and Connor into his office and assigned them a case. When Hank opened his mouth to object, Connor interrupted him with a crisp, "Yes, sir. We'll get right on it." 

As they hurried out of Fowler's office, Hank asked, "What are you gonna do?" 

Connor glanced around, but didn't stop moving. "I'll ask Detective Reed for help." 

" _Reed?_ He wouldn't spit on you if you were on fire!" 

"He likes cats," Connor replied. He came to his own desk and pulled open the drawer, scanning the little feline carefully before gently closing it again. "He has a white Persian at home." 

"He does? How do you know?" 

"The same way I knew you had a dog," said Connor with a touch of impatience. 

"Couldn't we ask him to cover for us instead?" 

"He's on desk duty since he called me a 'plastic prick' again," said Connor. He scanned the office distractedly. "Fowler said he won't tolerate racial slurs in his department." 

Wide-eyed and speechless, Hank followed Connor into the breakroom. 

"I need your help," said Connor to Reed without preamble. 

"You need _my_ help? What makes you think-" 

"We've got a case," Connor interrupted. "Someone needs to take care of the kitten while we're gone." He'd calculated that there was a 92.3% chance that Reed knew about the kitten's existence. 

The Detective's mouth snapped shut, but he didn't look surprised or say 'what kitten?'. 

"Please, Detective Reed," said Connor, bringing his negotiator skills to the forefront. "She's doing a little better, but she's still weak." 

Reed narrowed his eyes. "You've gotta do something for me in exchange." 

Connor paused, then nodded. "Did you have something in mind?" 

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Reed said, "Fowler says I have to write an apology letter to you." 

"Would you like me to write it?" said Connor. 

Hank snorted. Connor and Reed ignored him. 

"Yeah. That's in exchange for helping you out today," said Reed. "If you need help tomorrow, then we talk again." 

"Understood." Connor's smile was brilliant. "Thank you, Detective Reed." 

"Whatever," said Reed. 

Hank snorted again as he followed Connor back to his desk. "I can't believe that guy," he said. "He's seriously making you write his own apology letter to you?" 

"I think we got off easy," said Connor. He took out a manila folder containing full instructions for the kitten's care, including timing of feeding and medication, and laid it on Reed's desk. Then he took one last peek at the kitten before resolutely heading out. 

*** 

By the time they made it back to the office, it was almost midnight. Connor could tell that Hank was worried. He'd been glancing at the clock in the car all the way back, and his stress level was higher than it should have been even after the case had spiraled out of control. 

As they stepped into the bullpen, Connor touched Hank's shoulder and gestured to where Detective Reed sat slumped forward in his chair, one hand curled protectively over the kitten's body in his lap. A quiet "beep" sounded and the man sat up with a yawn. "C'mon Parsnip," he mumbled. "Time for another dose." 

"Detective Reed," said Connor, and the man startled, his head snapping up to them. 

"About fucking time," he snarled. "Our deal was supposed to be until the end of the day, not half the night!" 

Hank wanted to object that it wasn't their fault things had gone sideways, but Connor just said quietly. "I'm so sorry. I'll file the paperwork on your next case if you want." 

Reed glared at them. "Next _three_ cases." Connor just nodded. Reed huffed and said, "Fine then," before handing back the kitten with a hint of reluctance. 

Connor scanned her and was pleased to note that her breathing seemed a little easier. "What was that you called her?" 

"Oh. Uh, Parsnip. Seemed to fit." 

"I like it," said Connor. "Thank you again, Detective." 

"Whatever," Reed said grumpily. "I'm going home." 

"Yes, your own cat must be missing you." 

"Eh, she can wait-" he stopped and glared at Connor suspiciously. 

"You have cat hair on your jacket," said Connor, answering the unasked question. "What's her name?" 

"None of your business," said Reed, sliding on his jacket. He yawned. "What about my letter?" 

"It will be in your inbox by morning," said Connor. "I will compose it after scanning your submitted reports to ensure that it sounds sufficiently like you." 

"Okay then, good." Gavin stood there a moment longer. "You staying the night again?" 

"Yes," Connor said. 

Gavin seemed to hesitate, then reached into his coat pocket and tossed something onto the desk. They were three small, oblong packages. 

Connor looked inquiringly at Gavin, the Detective's gaze dropped. 

"They're cat treats," he mumbled. "My sister that lives in Japan sent them to me. Princess loves 'em, but she's a spoiled brat." 

"Like owner like pet, huh?" Hank said. 

Gavin flipped him off. "Anyway, they're good for sick cats, got a lot of moisture and stuff." 

Connor blinked. "Are these...for Parsnip?" 

"If the vet says it's okay, yeah." 

"...Thank you. I'll contact the vet in the morning and ask." 

"Whatever. I'm gonna get some sleep." He turned and strode briskly out of the dark, quiet station. 

Hank looked between the treat pouches and the direction where Gavin had retreated. "Huh." 

*** 

The next morning, Hank slept in, figuring that after the previous day's case he deserved it. When he arrived at the office, he found Connor leaning over the drawer with a small frown on his face. Looking up as Hank approached, he said, "Good morning." 

"Morning," said Hank. "Something wrong?" 

Connor gestured to the drawer. Peering in, Hank saw that the kitten was snuggled up to a stuffed animal, a small Saint Bernard-shaped plush. "I stepped away from the desk to obtain a coffee for you," said Connor. "When I returned, this was in the drawer. I thought that maybe Chris or Tina, or even Detective Reed might have left it, but I've asked around and none of them know anything about it." 

Hank smiled at the picture the kitten made curling up to the miniature version of Sumo. "Well, I wouldn't worry about it. Maybe Parsnip has a Fairy Godmother." He looked carefully at Connor, taking in the tired look in his eyes and around his mouth. Sometimes he seemed so damned human. "How's she doing?" 

"A little better, I think." He paused, then slowly slid the drawer shut. "Every time I open the drawer, I'm not sure whether she's going to be alive or dead," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. He gave a broken little laugh. "Schrödinger's Cat in real life." 

"Hey. C'mere. Come with me. She'll be okay for a couple of minutes." Connor glanced down at the closed drawer, then followed Hank out of the bullpen and into the empty station bathroom. 

When the door closed behind them, Hank tugged Connor into his arms. "Your stress level's been pretty high, hasn't it?" 

Connor didn't answer at once, but after a few moments he admitted, "...it's been over 70% since we brought her here. It sounds strange, but the only time it went down was when Gavin was looking after her and we were out on the case." 

"Doesn't sound strange at all," said Hank gently. "You've been carrying the responsibility for her all by yourself. Let me help." 

A sob shook Connor's narrow shoulders. "I didn't understand," he said, voice cracking, "about Cole. I still don't, not really, but maybe I do a little better now...I'm not making sense, I'm sorry." 

Hank's chest felt tight. "I get it." He stroked Connor's back. 

"What if I lose her?" Connor crumpled against Hank. "The vet said it wouldn't be my fault, but I'm the one taking care of her. What if I can't save her? I keep preconstructing the outcome, I can't help it. What if she dies?" 

"Oh sweetheart," breathed Hank. He let Connor bury his face against Hank's chest and tightened his hold on the android. "You know it won't be your fault. You know that's not how it works." 

"I know," said Connor. "But that's not how it _feels_." 

"Yeah," said Hank. He had to swallow hard against the lump building in his own throat and blink his eyes against the sting. "I know." 

For several long minutes, neither of them spoke. Gradually, the storm shaking Connor subsided. 

"No matter what happens," Hank said at last, "even if she doesn't get better, you gave her a little longer to live, and you made those days as pain-free and happy as you could manage." 

"Yes," said Connor, wiping a hand over the trails of saline solution, "I suppose that's true." 

Hank reached up and ruffled Connor's hair. "Why don't you wash your face. I'll go check on her." 

Connor nodded and gave Hank a shaky smile. "Thank you." 

*** 


End file.
